Sand
by Bones365
Summary: Jack looks back and knows that he only has two options. He's only ever had two options. I don't own anything!
1. Chapter 1

Jack was panting. Hard. The landscape in front of him was barren and dry. Everywhere he looked there was sand. Bright, blinding, orange sand.

He looked to the sky and saw that the sun was in line. This was the spot. He dropped to the ground and began to dig. His hands plunged into the earth and the heat immediately blistered them. He kept going.

It took all his warrior strength to keep going. There was no progress; he was getting nothing done. His fingers scooped out a hole, but it kept re-filling, the grains slipping through his clenched fist.

There was nothing that he could do. His strength had no jurisdiction, here. His training and his sword and his finely honed muscles couldn't help him. He was going to fail. He looked back behind him, panicked.

The sun was already beginning to set, the dunes casting longer and longer shadows. They were like fingers, reaching for him. "You will fail this test." They whispered to him. "You cannot win, and all will be lost. You should have listened, and now you cannot succeed."

"NO!" He screamed, his hands burning and still digging frantically, while the seductive voices from behind him tried to pull him away. He began to bleed, the course sand rubbing his fingers raw.

It would be easy, God it would be so easy to just stop, to give his aching hands a break, let the rapidly cooling winds push him backwards to the shelter of the shadows. Or he could keep working like a crazed man, which is what he was. He looked again at the sky.

Those were his options. Keep trying, or turn into the dark embrace always lurking over his shoulders. He shook his head and the sweat out of his eyes. He was hurting and he was tired and he didn't even know what he was fighting for, but he had to keep on.

A chill settled over him and he knew it was over. His chest heaved, trying hard to pull oxygen into his overworked lungs. His hands stilled and he pulled them up to his face. They were blistered and there was gritty filth in his wounds. The hills behind him laughed outright.

When he looked out ahead of him, he knew that there was no way that he could keep going. Not now. Not after this. He turned around. This was the only way left. He lifted his chin and walked proudly, stubbornly into his fate, fading into the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack awoke with a start, almost hitting his head on the lamp beside him. The arm was swung up over his bed, illuminating the books and tomes surrounding him; one more last attempt to keep sleep at bay.

He shook his hair, drops of sweat flinging around him. The sheets were wet and clinging to his body, and they were twisted so tightly around his legs that he though he was losing circulation to his feet.

He shoved the covers back, ripping them when they became stubborn around his ankles. He knew that he'd have to wash them, and that Becka would bicker at him for tearing them, but he didn't care just then.

He vaulted himself off of the bed, trying to stretch his sore muscles. He shook his head again, dislodging more droplets. Either he could stay here and lay around in a pool of his own sweat, or…

He didn't even bother putting on shoes or a shirt as he strode out the door. It was hard, sneaking out, especially now that Becka knew about magic. Jack had to move quickly and silently or else be subjected to another lecture.

He let out a slow breath as the screen door swung shut behind him, almost soundlessly. He rolled his head around his shoulders, trying again to loosen up. The night was cold, but he was burning up and the moon shed just enough light to illuminate the empty streets. The bare soles of his feet made a plodding swish against the cobblestones as he began to walk.

These nightmares were going to be the death of him. He couldn't sleep. When he tried to eat he remembered the helplessness and panic and dropped his fork. Maybe he should go see someone to tell him…

He huffed bitterly. He knew _exactly_ what his dreams were about. He didn't need any special crystals or potions or tarot cards. These were not psychic dreams. No. These things were super-glued onto his conscious thoughts, not to mention his subconscious. He felt like their poison was dripping off of him, hung on all the hollows and angles of his body.

He stopped walking. He had reached his destination. Jack didn't even have to look down at the path that wound around to the back of the house. Muttering a spell under his breath, he rose slowly until he was level with the window on the second floor.

Reaching out, Jack slowly lifted the pane, wincing when the wood squeaked. A sharp intake of breath inside told him that he had awakened the room's occupant.

He kept raising the glass steadily as the sound of sheets rustling met his ears, followed by a low groan. Finally the widow was open all the way, allowing Jack just enough room to slide though and land softly on the other side.


	3. Chapter 3

"I hate you."

Jack smirked when he heard the muffled curse. His heart began to pound. His senses expanded, he became more alive. She could do that to him. A pressure built in his chest. She could do that, too.

He padded softly to the bed, pulling back the thick comforter. The smell of flowers floated up to him, settling him a bit more.

"I think that would be more effective if you said it _without_ the pillow over your head." A hand appeared from under said pillow and began to slap randomly in his direction. The attempt was sleepy and uncoordinated.

In one smooth motion, Jack slid into the bed and grabbed the wrist that the hand was attached to. Tugging firmly, he slid its owner out from under the pillow. Ellen shut her eyes tight as he settled her onto his chest.

"I would be most effective if you didn't make me say it at…" She trailed off and Jack smiled. Ellen had no idea what time it was, and it seemed that she didn't want to take the energy to find out.

She sighed and settled for comfortably against his chest, sliding her arm around his chest, clutching his biceps. Jack tightened his hold on her.

"It's three." He told her. He felt her brows furrow against his chest and he reached up to run his fingers through his hair, soothing her. They lay there like that for a little while longer, enjoying the comfort of the other, listening to the stillness outside and allowing it to seep into them, deep to the bone.

Ellen shivered. "You should have closed the window." She snuggled closer and Jack reached up to cover her with the blanket, holding her even tighter. "If I closed the window, you'd be back on the other side of the bed."

"Would not." She challenged, her voice becoming drowsier, "I would be right here," She stroked her hand down his chest, "This is my favorite spot." Jack smiled wider when her breathing evened out and she fell asleep.

Rubbing his fingers absently through her hair, he allowed himself to fully take her in. Her smell, the feel of her, the very essence of her calmed him. Staring unblinkingly up at the calming blues of her bedroom, he knew that he couldn't live without her.

Those were his options. Live with her, or not at all. He had known it before, but when he saw her go down during the battle, the thought had somehow crystallized. Now he had to live with it everyday, live with those few innumerable moments when her life had been in question, and he had had to consider the life before him.

Jack tried in vain to close his eyes to that thought, but like the past few months, it was all he saw, all he thought about, burning into his mind like a brand.

The blood all around him, the shouts, he hadn't been able to get to her, suddenly she was in the middle and there was nothing he could… That damned little kid, he had to kill him, and he thought that he was going to…when D'Orsay had come at him…but he had just lain there.

Jack's eyes snapped open. He could have moved. He really could have. He was weak, sure, but he could have done something, but he didn't. Instead, lying in the middle of the battlefield between the two walls and countless battles, with Ellen in his arms, he had been ready to die.

He pulled Ellen closer to his chest, closer to his heart, and breathed her in again. It was so much easier, thinking about this with her here. In his bed and alone was no place to consider such dramatic events, but even while she slept, she swept through him like a waterfall. It was just easier.

But still, it changed you: knowing that you are ready to die. It shook him to his core. In that moment, he had lost the very will to live, which was really the only thing a warrior had in this world, if you thought about it. It was all anyone had.

But now, now Jack had Ellen. He had lost his life to her, because she was his life. She was his will to live. The thought resounded in his head like a drum, with it came the release of all the turmoil that had been building inside him in the past weeks.

Of course those were his options: with her, or without her; one or the other. Jack quieted completely for the first time since he had picked her up from that field, and watched the sun begin to rise on the ceiling.

He didn't know how much longer it was before Ellen began to stir, her fingers and toes flexing. Jack bent down and placed a kiss in her hair and she blinked up at him, groaning. Her hair was crazy, sticking up on one side, her eyes were blinking back sleep, her shirt was bleach stained and ratty, she wore a pair of his old boxers.

But the thing that everyone really overlooked was the fact that she was just so pretty. And it was a fact. Usually people couldn't look past the fact that she was so tall and athletic, they forgot to see that she was also a girl.

They stared at each other for a few moments while the sleep left her eyes. She sighed and glanced at her clock.

"It's early." She said. He smirked at her.

"It was earlier when I came in." She frowned at his reply, then cocked her head.

"You seem different. What did you do?" She squinted at him, but he brushed off the question, kissing her.

"I just figured some stuff out. But, ya know, I've been up for a while, and I'm pretty hungry. What're you gonna make me for breakfast?" His stomach rumbled as if on cue and he wiggled his eyebrows at her, making her laugh.

"What is your _mother_ gonna make _me_ for breakfast?" she shot back, sliding off of him to her feet. Jack laid back with his hands behind his head, watching her muscles flex as she stretched and grabbed a pair of jeans out of her closet. Disappearing into the attached bathroom, her voice was muffled.

"I think I'm due for a workout, wanna fight today?"

Jack perked up at the idea. Maybe for just today they could blow off working or building and just go have fun being Jack and Ellen. He thought about his dream, the frantic and thirsty way he had been digging. His head swung to the bathroom door as the shower turned on. She washed him clean, quenched him. She was his everything and he knew that he would always fight for her. And with her.

"Sounds great!" He said, "Anything for you."


End file.
